8 Nights at Atherford
by Petrova87
Summary: AU written from Aria's POV. Aria is a literature graduate attending a writer's retreat. She meets her professor, Ezra, who taught her at her college, as he is attending the program too. Initially, she is not happy about this surprise but things change quickly. Please review.
1. Chapter 1

**Eight Nights at Atherford**

**Preface: **

It wasn't the pleasantest of the journeys but it should have been. Considering I had spent every bit of the money I had saved since I was 10 on this trip, it should have been the pleasantest of my journeys. Considering I had deferred my admission in a top notch college that came with a full scholarship, to go on this soul searching trip, it should have been the pleasantest of journeys. But it wasn't. I leaned over, my forehead touching the glass of my widow seat; the persistent rain was beating against it. The sky outside had taken off its royal yellow dress for a flirty, blue evening gown. The dark greyness slowly invaded the cobalt blue.

I heard someone addressing my name in the most formal manner I have ever heard 'Ms. Vincent...' a tiny gap of silence and then again, 'Ms. Vincent...' I ignored the call and plunged deeper into my mind's musings. A few seconds later, I felt someone's hand on my shoulder, a gentle tap pulling me out of my reverie. Annoyed at the interruption of my internal monologue, I turned to look at the bright face of a wait staff. She held a glass of cold coffee and an apple pie I had ordered (and obviously forgotten) in a tray. She had a pretty face, fabulous hair and pair of pretty blue eyes. The only thing wrong with her was that manufactured smile that she was so expertly trained at flashing at all the passengers. Not that I blame her, it was her job. But as she left my order on the table and walked away from me, once more flashing that fake smile of hospitality, i couldn't help wondering how her real smile looked like. Did she have one? She must have had one but the question is does it still exist? I shrugged, pushing away the sad thought (of her lost smile) to the corners of my mind.

Relishing the taste of the great coffee that I was just served, I turned my attention once more toward the inner workings of my mind. It was my first trip outside of my country. Having never travelled this far alone, I was scared. I thought of that sinking feeling that overcame me as I had boarded my flight at the New Delhi airport. It had struck me like a lightning then that I was leaving everything behind, my home, my family, my past, in short everything that had defined me for the past 20 years. My heart was drenched with fear then, but I knew I had to do it. I told myself again and again that I needed to break away from everything if I wanted to rediscover myself. Was I not happy with who I am? Ofcourse, I am. That's not it. The past three years as a literature student was the best three years of my life. I felt like I was home when I realized my love and passion for the subject I was learning. But I refuse to settle, I realized that I cannot stagnate. I needed to move forward and give a shape and form to my passion. My mom wanted me to intern at her law firm and 'give it a shot'. She thought I had a great prospect as a lawyer. She had always envisioned me as the next torch bearer to carry forward her family legacy and her hopes came crashing down. Have you ever watched a neatly stacked house of cards crumbling down? I watched her hopes crumble like that when I put my foot down this summer and refused to consider the option of becoming a lawyer. My dad encouraged my dream of pursuing literature and supported me every step of the way when I sent a dozen applications to colleges in the U.S. His happiness knew no bounds when I got accepted in 8 out 12 colleges I had applied for. He couldn't understand why I would defer my admission and spend all of my savings on a writer's retreat program that offered no certification or nothing of academic value whatsoever. He tried to reason with me, I wouldn't budge. He recommended a list of writer's retreat programs, the popular ones with popular writers which were of course amazingly expensive. And when I was as stubborn as a mule, he gave up on me completely.

I am still fascinated by the idea of getting a graduate degree from a reputed institution. I still buy into the dream of holding a PhD degree someday and making my family proud. But more than anything, I want to be a writer. I have always known that I wanted to be a storyteller more than anything, sometimes this knowledge was at the conscious realm of mind, sometimes it lurked in the unconscious, manifesting itself in a million ways I engaged with the world. This summer, when I finished my undergraduate program, the desire was stronger than ever. I spent dozens of nights penning down my thoughts, most of the time looking outside my window with a longing for a sign or a subtle hint that would indicate the arrival of my muse. But there was no Urania or Lancelot's reflection on my mirror that inspired my creative fluids to spring like a fountain. That's when I decided I needed look for inspiration from within. Philip Sydney couldn't have been more correct when he wrote:

"Fool," said my Muse to me, "look in thy heart and write."

The train came to a halt, once more I was saved from drowning deeper into the mysterious, deep ocean of my thoughts. My carryon luggage was a brown, mid size, trolley bag that contained clothes and a backpack that had books, notebooks, writing instruments, medicines and other sundries. I stepped outside the train. The sight at Avalon train station was welcoming. It was 4 in the evening and I could tell from the dry platform that it had not been raining here. I looked up at the sky. The sky was getting darker and the smell of the fresh earth was inviting. Avalon was a small, friendly town with people exchanging kind greetings. However, my destination was still 2 hours away. I hired a taxi that was to drive me through the Avalon valley and take me to Atherford, a small hill settlement on the upper reaches of the Avalon valley. I stowed my bags into the luggage space, took my seat and put on my seat belt. A gentle drizzle began outside the car but I felt its effect in my mind as it washed away all my fears. And then with no speck of fear or doubt in my heart and my mind filled with expectations and dreams to uncover the mysteries of life (or should I say my mind?), I told myself "I, Aria Vincent, am officially ready to kick start this new journey".

**Night 1 **

When the taxi crossed a bump in the road, I woke up with a start. I looked out the window and saw a refreshing sight of winding roads we had left behind. It was getting darker by the minute. A distinct smell from the surrounding woods filled my nostrils. I drank in the smell, closing my eyes to fill my entire being with the aura. The taxi pulled over in front of a large iron gate. The right side wall was displayed the inscription: Gilbert Residence. I thanked the driver as he helped me unload my luggage and waved him goodbye after I paid him. After taking a deep breath, I pushed open the gates with all my strength and entered the place where I was going to spend the next 8 days.

I slowly walked up a somewhat steep cobblestone pathway. I was able to hear a distant chatter and laughter. After walking half a mile, I beheld a beautiful, grey, gothic revival styled home. Made of limestone, it had steeply pitched roof, double hung windows and everything I loved about neo gothic architecture. The host, Michael Connor stepped out to welcome me. It looked like everyone else had arrived before me. Holding a glass of evening drinks, they all looked like they had already gotten accustomed to the new atmosphere.

'My journey was just fine. Thanks Mr. Connor', I awkwardly put down my luggage and looked around the beautiful home. My host allowed me to have a moment of silence admiring the interiors. I was standing in a large living room with simple yet functional Swedish furniture spread all around the room. There were sofas, chairs and tables and a teakwood lounger that was definitely not Swedish. My favourite one was a beige Swedish sofa by the fireplace. The stone walls on the either sides of the fireplace were converted into a book rack. There were at least a hundred books in there.

'Would you care for some Aperol, Aria?'

'Sure... Mr. Connor.' I took a glass of Aperol that the housekeeper offered.

'Oh call me Michael.' He smiled; I could see his grey eyes twinkling behind his glasses. Michael was a middle aged man with an average built. His thick, dark brown hair had streaks of grey.

I took a sip of the Aperol which was some kind of orange flavoured, mildly alcoholic drink and followed Michael as he walked towards a small group of people.

'This is Aria Vincent from India. She is a literature student and she is your fellow participant in this Writer's Retreat program.' He addressed to the group and I heard a lot of 'Hellos and His'.

I shook hands with everyone as they said their names which I was quickly trying to register in my mind. There was Ayana, a beautiful woman in her 20s. Her dark skin glistened like diamond and when she smiled; her pearl white teeth illuminated the whole room. She was from a native settlement village in the U.S. Then, there was Igor; he was a young boy in his teens. It looked like he bore a perpetual smile on his face. His thin, delicate frame and freckled face seemed to indicate his struggle with adolescence. I wondered what he was doing here by himself. Finally, there was a couple; James and Lydia. James was from Malta and Lydia was German. They had been in a relationship for 4 years. James owned a small IT company in Malta which he was able to manage from anywhere in the world. Lydia was a published poet who wanted to take time off to write her new book. James had signed up for the unofficial cooking class that the housekeeper offered to be with Lydia.

I was told that my room was at the first storey.

'Let me help you with your luggage, Ms. Vincent.' Ms. Skarsgard, the housekeeper asked in her beautiful Russian accent.

'It's alright Ms. Skarsgard, I am fine. And please call me Aria.' She smiled and I was captured in the innocence of her smile as I stepped into the stairs and bumped into someone.

'What the hell are you doing here?' I demanded, my insides tearing apart in anger.

'Fancy meeting you here, Aria. I thought you were supposed to have crossed the Atlantic by now.' He spoke with a mischievous smile that was so typical of him.

'I was. I deferred my admission. Back to my question. What the hell are you doing here?'

'Respect Aria. Just because I am not your professor anymore doesn't mean you couldn't be a little more polite. What do you think I am doing here? I am an English professor; this is a Writer's Retreat where people come to give words to their thought, take a wild guess.'

'This is not happening. Tell me... this... is... not... happening. How could you just barge into my private space like that? The whole point of this was to get away from everything.'

'I am sorry; did you say your private space? Last I checked, you did not own this Retreat.' He added fuel to the fire.

'Urgggh...'

'Aria, Ezra, is there a problem?' Michael asked from the other side of the room.

'Oh no! None at all Michael. Aria and I have known each other for a while. Just didn't expect to run into each other here.'

He put on a fake smile which I was forced to imitate.

'Oh! That must be a pleasant surprise for the two of you. You wouldn't mind showing Aria your room, would you? I had to accommodate you two in the same room. James and Lydia wanted the same room and the other two rooms are single occupancy ones which you both didn't want.' He explained, holding his glass stylishly.

'Sure. No problem, Michael.' Mr. Wilson led me to our room.

'This just keeps getting better!' I complained under my breath as I followed him.

As he opened the door, I saw a beautiful view of the other side of the valley through the windows. There was window seat with cushions and linens. Creepers from outside decorated the borders of the windows. I turned around to look at the sleeping arrangement. There were two queen size beds on the either sides of the door with a lot of space in between them. In the adjoining walls of both the beds, wooden wardrobes were fitted. The room had a fireplace on one corner, two writing tables with lamps and two arm chairs. The walls were painted in light brown and the tapestries and curtains were in deep, chocolate brown. A huge, antique, mantle clock adorned the wall above the fireplace.

'Uhhhh...'

My professor lifted my bags with ease and placed them next to where I was sitting on the bed. He sat kneeled on the floor and looked at me. It was a strange moment, one that I had never imagined to share with my professor.

'So, do you want to talk to me Aria? What are you angry about?'

' I dunno... okay? I am not mad at you. I think I am just mad at myself.'

'Well... that's very evident. The question is why?'

'It just seems stupid now. To think that travelling miles away would present me with a new perspective on life and make me wise. And I am mad at the fact that you are not at all mad at me. As much as you are intruding my personal space, I am doing the same. How come you are not mad at me?'

'Hmmm...' He smiled and then sat next to me.

'First of all, it's not stupid. You might not stumble upon a magical solution here but a refreshing change is always good. And I am not mad at you. Infact, I am happy that I don't have to be wholly disconnected with my past. I have someone who knows me a little. I am happy you are here and wish you felt the same.'

'But, I don't.' I looked up at the ceiling to avoid eye contact.

'Well, that's unfortunate. I will leave you to yourself, for now.' He got up and left the room. smile.

After unpacking, I decided to calm my mind with a beauty bath. The ensuite bathroom was lavishly furnished with a huge tub, bathing salts, bathing oils, candles, a wide selection of soaps and shampoo. There were two small closets for storing our personal items. I drew the shower curtain, filled the bath tub with water, poured in some lavender oil and relaxed. The candle light cast its shadows on the walls and ceilings. All that was missing was a glass of wine and a book. I wouldn't have minded spending an eternity in there.

My petite frame snugly fit into the grey winter gown that I had bought at the airport. I wrapped a red shawl around myself as it was getting colder. Stocking my handbag with a pair of mittens and a muffler cap (as I had the intention of heading to the local pub for a drink after dinner), I headed downstairs to engage with my fellow writers.

It was around 730 when I stepped down and met everyone at the dining room that was attached to the kitchen. We crowded around the dining table to take a look at the delicious dishes that Ayana had made for dinner. The meal system at this Writer's Retreat was quite different but was quite appealing to me. Breakfast was self catering. The ingredients were provided by the host and we were to prepare our own breakfast to suit our morning schedule. Lunch was prepared by Ms. Skarsgard which we were to have at our convenient times. Dinner was a communal meal and each evening one of us was to prepare dinner. Ms. Skarsgard offered her assistance and there were cookbooks to help those who were not sure about their recipes.

Ayana had prepared a native dish of some variety of wild rice and gravy to go with that. She had specially packed some ingredients for this purpose. A native winter drink made of berries was also served. I could feel the warmth spreading inside my body as I gulped down some of it. We took our seats and Ms. Skarsgard began to serve dinner.

'Oh no Ms. Skarsgard, that won't do. We can serve ourselves and you must sit down and have dinner with us,' I ordered, others pleaded and Ms. Skarsgard conceded.

Dinner was a quite affair as everyone was engrossed in the meal.

'So, first night is the official break-the-ice night and no writing duties unless you guys want to get to work right away.' Michael addressed to us as we settled comfortably in the living room. I was seated by the fire with Ayana.

'Oh, we would love to do some break-the-ice kinda activities,' Mr. Wilson said teasingly as his eyes drifted over everyone and laughter filled the room.

'Tell me something Aria; it must have been really difficult to concentrate on your classes with this hawte teaching you, how did you manage?' Ayana whispered.

'Ha ha... somehow I never had a crush on him unlike my classmates and they would agree with you. So, you like him?' I teased.

'Look at those hazel eyes, do you hear him talk? It's like champagne slipping through my throat like silk.'

'Wow...Ayana...should I put in a word for you? After all he is my roommate you know?'

'Nah...I will deal with it.' And she sounded pretty confident.

A fire was made outside the house and we all sat around it and started to talk about how and why we decided to become writers. The conversation gradually started to touch upon other subjects like our lives, likes, dislikes and everything else that didn't involve writing. I spoke very little and listened a lot. It was astounding how Mr. Wilson mingled with the crowd with such ease. I couldn't help feeling jealous. Then it hit me strongly how my expectations were already beginning to crumble. I wanted to write, I wanted to write in a place where I had to spend very little time with people around me and here was a man who had no trouble talking to all these strangers like he had known them all his life. It felt like I lacked something in me. I excused myself from the crowd went back inside the house.

Ms. Skarsgard was cleaning up the place which I assumed to be her routine before everyone went to bed. I looked around for my bag and found it lying on the sofa by the fireside.

'Ms. Skarsgard? Could you please direct me to the pub? I want to get a drink.'

'Oh, please wait here for sometime Aria. I will have the driver drop you there. He has to get me mushrooms for tomorrow's lunch from Clara.'

'Who is Clara?'

'She runs the pub and she is our grocery supplier too.'

'Oh...'

'And when you get there dear ask for Andy. He is the barman and he makes some wonderful drinks.'

'Thanks Ms. Skarsgard.'

The pub was a low roof, stone walled structure filled with dim, yellow light. Soothing music and the smell of lemon grass was inviting. It was a relief to be in a place that was not a sad excuse for a pub where people danced in a dark, smoky and an overcrowded dance floor with music blasting my ears. The dance floor was well separated from the seating area. Friendly conversations and heartfelt laughter filled the place. I approached the barmaid and took a seat across her. She seemed busy talking to one of her familiar customers as she refilled his beer mug.

'I am looking for Andy...' I said slowly and reluctantly as she smiled at me.

'That would be me' I heard a spontaneous answer from a cheerful voice and looked to my left.

'Wow... You are the barman? Andy?' I blurted.

'Erm... Yes... You don't seem very happy with that. Why?' He spoke as he worked with his cocktail shaker.

'Well... I am very happy believe me. It's just that when Ms. Skarsgard said look for Andy, the Barman, I expected someone like the Barman from Harry Potter and not a drop dead gorgeous looking guy.' I blushed and he laughed.

'I think it might have made a difference if Ms. Skarsgard had said Bartender instead of Barman.' I went on to embarrass myself further only it didn't feel like it as he seemed to enjoy my rant and wasn't laughing AT me.

'Here... This drink is on the house. I have never heard such a straightforward compliment from a woman before. They either play hard to get or try and come up with indirect pick up lines to get me in their beds which is totally fine with me.'

'Well... then it should be no surprise that I paid a direct compliment. I am merely admiring beauty without an ulterior motive.' The rum cocktail sent a shockwave through my body.

'Hmmmm... Maybe... I was brought up to believe that there is always an ulterior motive. So, you must be one of the writers.'

'Yes... I am Aria...' I extended my hand.

He shot a surprised look at me and shook it before disappearing to serve his customers.

'Andy...' I called him slightly raising my voice and he turned his attention towards me.

'Aria?'

'What kind of Barman are you? Ignoring your new customer? I need a drink. A strong one.'

'But I already made you a drink... on the house, no less and a pretty strong one, remember? He looked amused.

'I want another one.'

'Are you sure about that?'

'You think I can't handle my liquor?'

'Oh no... Was just making sure. Here you go. It's called Scary Mary.'

'Scary Mary?'

'Yeah... I got bored of the Bloody Mary.'

I sat there for what seemed like an hour and made him tell me stories about the glens and streams surrounding Atherford. Some of them were pretty scary stories. I listened keenly and talked only when I had a question. He looked at me expecting me to stop him abruptly and walk away anytime and when my appetite for conversation grew stronger, it surprised him more. It was the first time I had ever spent so much time listening to a stranger and it was a relief knowing that I wasn't expected to say or behave in any particular manner. The bar started to empty, finally leaving just me and Andy. He started to close up and I was enjoying my last glass of Scary Mary. The door opened and Mr. Wilson entered waving at me, I waved back with a fake smile.

'Is he the reason you have been gulping down all that strong liquor?' Andy asked in a quick whispher.

'Yes... Actually no... I am the reason... I am pathetic. He is just a good man.'

'Good man? Boy friend?'

'No.. Long story short. My college professor turned to a fellow writer which was a surprise.'

'Oh...'

'Yeah... Oh.'

'Hey Aria... It's quite late. Should I take you home?' Mr. Wilson asked politely as he and Andy exchanged smiles.

'Sure Mr. Wilson.' I faltered as I rose from my stool and Mr. Wilson held my elbow.

'Careful.' They both said in unison.

'Good night Andy. I will see you tomorrow.'

'I am not making you any drinks tomorrow Aria.'

'No... I want more stories.' And he looked surprised again.

'Looks like you made a friend.' Mr. Wilson spoke after we were out of the bar.

'He seems like a nice guy not to mention he is too hot. Don't you agree Ezra? Oops... Mr. Wilson.'

'No... Ezra is just fine. So, you have date with him tomorrow?' He sounded curious.

'I wish... I wish...'

'Wish granted.'

'What do you mean wish granted?'

'I mean you will have a date with him tomorrow?'

'Ezra?'

'Let's just get you home tonight safely. And I promise you will have a date with him tomorrow.'

'I think, you are just as drunk as I am.'

There was a loud thunder in the sky and everything faded into darkness.


	2. Chapter 2

**Night 2 **

I woke up feeling a little fuzzy in the head; Scary Mary was showing it's after effects. My eyes scanned the room as my blurry vision was becoming clearer. Ezra was sound asleep in his bed. I have no recollection of what had happened after I heard the thunder. I am known for my 'Thunderophoebia'( I am sure that's not even a word) and I wouldn't be surprised if I had collapsed right there on the road. I looked at the huge mantle clock to check if I had some more time to sleep. Relieved at the knowledge that there was still some time left for dawn, I pulled my comforter over me and curled into a ball.

Turned out that at Atherford, I did not need an alarm clock. It started with a mild chirping of birds which then turned into a loud crowing of a rooster.

'Arrrghhhhh... You have got to be kidding me.' My head emerged from under my comforter.

'Pleasing sounds of nature too disturbing for you Aria?' Ezra teased, standing by the window.

'Go Away, Byron!' I went inside my comforter once again.

'I prefer Shelley, you know'.

I threw my comforter away, giving up on the possibility on any further sleep and sat up.

'You are annoying, you know that?'

He smiled and turned to look at me.

'Good morning to you too. You're not a ball of sunshine either.'

We both walked to the bathroom at the same time, annoyingly bumping at each other and grabbed our tooth brushes.

'Are you sure he is your type?' He asked looking at me through the mirror as he brushed his teeth vigorously.

I was busy carefully going over every tooth, smoothly with my brush. I took my time to answer.

'Who's my type? Oh Andy? Well... you did see him last night, didn't you? Dark eyes, messy hair, very tall, muscular frame, stubble look; did i mention the messy hair already? he is everyone's type and he is a great storyteller. Besides, I am not getting married to him.'

'Interesting, you seem to have put quite a bit of thought into it.'

'Oh yeah... between collapsing on the road after the thunder struck and waking up this morning all groggy and cranky, I had a lot of time thinking about Andy, the barman.' I rinsed my mouth, placed my brush on the stand and walked into the bathtub and pulled the shower curtain.

'What do I say? You have a very active unconscious.'

'I expect to have a Freud free bath time. So, if you could please let yourself out. Oh and my bathrobe is hanging on the coat stand, it would be great if you could hang it next to the wash basin.'

I heard a loud thud of the door and smiled to myself at successfully annoying him.

'Go with green, brings attention to your hair.' Ezra said as I was trying to decide between two of my favourite sweaters.

I turned and smiled at him 'Thank you!'

He nodded with a smile and disappeared into the bathroom.

I wore my sweater and combed my hair in such a way that it fell over my shoulders in the front. I remembered wishing for my hair to be slightly wavy sometimes. But today, looking at it in contrast with the green sweater, I couldn't have asked more than the silky, straight dark hair.

The smell of freshly baking bread started to float in the air. The aroma was too inviting to ignore. I knocked on the bathroom door and heard an annoyed 'What?'

'Should I wear a blue scarf or grey?' I asked trying to hide my giggle.

'Grey...Now leave me alone.'

I laughed and left the room, whistling, hopping and semi dancing my way to the kitchen, following the scent all the way to the wooden oven from which Ms. Skarsgard was taking out what seemed to be her first batch of loaves for the day. The eager eyes of James were following her every move carefully.

'Good morning Aria. Do you want me to fix you breakfast?' James asked with a warm smile.

'Nah... I just need some coffee. It's still early for breakfast.' I helped myself to a cup of coffee from the coffee maker. Ms. Skarsgard said nothing but her smile and the way she carried on with her work, explaining every little detail to James as she cooked, not minding my presence, made me feel included. I sat across the two of them, at the Kitchen Island; relishing every sip of my coffee as a cold morning breeze from the windows swept my hair gently. It was like a tender, loving touch. I closed my eyes, giving in to the sensation, my hands still cupping the warm mug of coffee. Suddenly I felt a different touch on my cheek and opened my eyes.

'Still sleeping?' Ezra had touched my cheek on his way to grab coffee.

I decided not to respond and buried my face in the coffee mug. He grabbed his coffee and walked past me. I wondered where he was going and followed him outside the house. He went around the house and found a seat in the backyard. The backyard had a beautiful garden with many different flowering plants and herbs out which I only recognized tulips and sage. There was clear view of the mountain ranges from where I stood. I stood there dumbstruck at the beauty that surrounded me.

'I won't bark if you came and sat here, you know. Unlike you, I enjoy company of strangers and friends alike.'

'You are calling me a dog?' I sat next to him, not taking my eyes off the mountains.

He didn't respond. We sat there for a long time, not talking, not moving and not taking our eyes off the peaks that stood still in front of us. As strange as it might sound, it seemed like we were having an intimate conversation with the mountains, like the mountains were telling us their ancient tales. After sometime, Michael joined us too.

'Never gets old. This view never gets old. 30 years yet every morning it's as fresh as dew and as striking as ever.' It was as though the three of us were in a trance. I heard a loud sound of a church bell tolling and woke up from my trance. I walked back into the house slowly, reminding myself how lucky I was to have had the opportunity to be there.

I went into the kitchen to wash my mug. Ms. Skarsgard was giving instructions to the rest of the housekeeping crew on cleaning our rooms. After she dispensed the crowd, she stood next to me as I was washing the mug slowly, looking outside the window. I looked into her eyes that were trying to convey something. I looked down, not wanting to make her uncomfortable.

She put her hand over my shoulder and said 'It's the most beautiful thing, what you are feeling now, the confusion, the fear, the exhilarating thrill of being in a land far away from home. Its not very often a soul is bestowed with such overwhelming emotions. Embrace it.'

I wanted to thank her but I just nodded with a smile and two drops of tears rolled down my cheek which I am sure meant more to her than words.

I went up to my room to grab my laptop, my most valuable writing instrument. I settled in my favourite seat by the living room fireplace. I had a clear view of the lawn outside where Ezra and Ayana were walking together (or were they flirting?) and Igor was happily enjoying a swift ride in the small wooden swing that hung between two trees. I turned away and focused my attention inwards, not looking for words but scanning my head for plenitude of emotions I felt. It was like surfing TV channels at an insane speed, yet knowing what was running on each channel, the only goal being stumbling upon something interesting to pick and write on. And finally, my inner sensor picked up a signal and I started to write:

'I'm not looking for the Sunrise,

As the brisk mornings come and go;

I am looking for the Sunset,

And the Silver moonlight beams,

Where the sound of darkness

Will break into my soul and set me free,

In the land that knows no sunrise,

Nor it's harsh, blinding light.'

It was good but somehow not satisfying; I wasn't satisfied with the words 'Sunrise' and 'Sunset' in the first two lines. I wanted something more, something subtle yet sublime. I gave up after thinking for more than half hour. I looked around. The room was deserted. The silence was creepy and my inspiration for writing was lost for the moment. It was funny how before I came to Atherford, my every thought was about writing and now writing was starting to become one of the things I HAD to do during the day. The power of structure and a formal setting to kill the desire to pursue any creative task had ceased to surprise me in the past few years. I thought of my days before college, when all I wanted to do was read novels, plays, poems and talk about them to people all day long but when I took literature as an academic course, all the books in the reading list started to appear to me as 'SYLLABUS' and the great conversations that I had the opportunity to have with my teachers were disguised as 'LECTURES'.

'What are you all smiley about?' Ayana pulled me back to reality as she took a seat next to me.

'Nothing... Just thinking about life, in general. So, how did it go with Ezra?' I teased.

'Well... I got myself a date this evening.' She beamed.

'Oh! You don't waste any time at all, do you?'

'With just 7 more days left in this place, I don't I have much choice.' I turned my head to look at the lawn once more and Igor was still on the swing.

'He seems very happy, doesn't he?'

'Yeah... he is nice kid.'

'I wonder how his parents sent him alone all this way.'

'He doesn't have parents.' She spoke as she took a portion of my hair in her hand and started to braid it.

'What do you mean?'

'He is an Orphan, from Bulgaria. He is an avid reader and an excellent writer. Every year, The Gilbert Foundation sponsors one person to attend the Writer's Retreat for free. He wrote an absolutely wonderful application that won over the entire jury that they decided to make an exception for him and award him the scholarship this year because they usually don't sponsor international applicants.'

'Wow... I must talk to that kid sometime. And what's with the 'Gilbert Foundation'?

'This foundation was started after the death of Grayson Gilbert, by his family and friends and they donated this house to be put to better use for future writers. Hence, the reasonable pricing, flexible rules, etc etc. The foundation is doing a great job with the little support it is receiving. They lack in manpower. Not a lot of people are ready to volunteer and commit.'

'Wait... you said Grayson Gilbert... You mean 'the Grayson Gilbert'?

'Yes, Aria, the Grayson Gilbert, the confessional poetry fame.'

'Wow...And I am sitting at his house right now? I think my heart rate is rising a bit.'

'Here, its done.' She said, pointing to the braid.

'Thanks. But I want something like yours. I always wanted to have fringe braid running across my forehead. Very 11th centurish, you know?'

'Yeah... I will do it for you sometime.' She laughed.

'Hey, by the way, how did you know all this?'

'I stayed up late last night, talking to Michael and Ms. Skarsgard.'

'I see.'

'Is this girl time or I can join too?' without waiting for a response Ezra crashed on the sofa between me and Ayana.

'Definitely not girl time but I am famished. I am gonna grab some lunch.' Ayana left us and walked to the kitchen.

'Lunch? What time is it?'

'It's almost 1 Aria. Did you eat anything at all, the entire day?'

'No...I didn't realize it was this late. I was writing and...'

'Want some?' he offered to share his fries and I ate from his plate shamelessly and asked him to get the next serving of something more lunch ish than fries as I was in no mood to get up from my seat.

After lunch and wandering in the lawn and back yard for a while, I was in no mood to write more. James and Lydia were having some kind of a lovers' spat, it was yoga time for Ayana and she was doing a beautiful headstand in the garden, Igor had finally stopped swinging and had gone back to his room for writing, Ezra and Michael sat in the living room and it looked like they were having some kind of serious conversation. I walked up to my room, put my earphones on and started to dance. Occasionally, I stopped, went out of the room to check no one was watching and then continued. At around 3, I was completely exhausted and decided to take a nap.

'Wake up sleepy head; you have a date to go to.'

'You have a date to go to. Not me!'

'Oh, you know about that, huh? Such a gossip monger you are. Wake up and get dressed now.'

I hesitantly emerged out of my comforter and walked to the bathroom to splash some water on my face.

'I don't understand why you are more eager about this Andy guy than I am.'

'Let's just say, I am interested in being a creator and audience of this romantic drama. Something to keep me entertained.' He spoke as he opened my wardrobe and started to reject the dresses one by one.

'Okay, here you go. You'll wear this leather skirt, and this white top and... this red, deep, V neck cardigan and of course, these knee length boots.'

'Don't you have a date to get to?' I asked annoyingly as I grabbed my dresses from his hands and went into the bathroom to change.

'Yes but not for another two hours...'

'I am ready...' I emerged out of the bathroom. 'You know you are wasting awful lot of time in something that's not gonna work Ezra. Did you look at him? He is gorgeous and not to mention quite famous among the townsfolk, he is cheerful and friendly. Why would he want me?'

He grabbed me by my shoulder and made me stand in front of the mirror, and then he pushed my hair over my shoulder and hooked my favourite necklace (with my favourite pendant) on to my neck.

'Because, you are beautiful, smart and probably the only girl who was interested in having a real conversation with a barman who is otherwise the classic sex symbol of the town.' He said looking into my eyes through the mirror.

'Hmmm... I am beautiful, aren't I?' I pulled the edges of my skirt further down.

'Well... let's not push it. Now, go wait downstairs, I will be there in 10 minutes.'

I noticed for the first time how good-looking he was as I watched him come downstairs. He wore a pair of black jeans that hugged his long, firm legs and mustard coloured, full sleeve T shirt that failed to conceal his broad shoulders and wide chest. He cast his crooked smile at Ayana as he gracefully scuttled down the stairs.

'Going somewhere?' Ms Skarsgard asked us as he took my hand in his.

'Yeah... I am going to set this beautiful lady up on a date.'

The room filled with laughter and I faked a shy smile.

'Who is the lucky man?' enquired Ayana.

'Its Andy, the hot barman.'

'He is a nice guy Aria.' gave her approval and proceeded to the kitchen to help Igor with making dinner.

'You didn't have to announce it in public.' I said between my clenched teeth and shoulder bumped him hard.

'Ouch. What? It was fun. They enjoyed it plus what do you have to hide?'

'I don't like looking like a pathetic, desperate, girl in need of a date.'

'Alright, I am sorry. I'll make it upto you, okay?'

'Whatever'

Before entering the bar, he grabbed me by my elbow and said

'Listen to me carefully... We are going to enter the bar and you are not gonna look at him right away. We are gonna pretend to be having a laugh about something.'

'Alright... You know I don't know if I am doing this to be with Andy or to see you make a fool out of yourself. Either way, it's a win win for me Ezra.'

'Hmmm... We will see about that.' He gave his fake-Oh you think you are so clever-smile and we stepped inside.

I did as he instructed. He then led me to the dance floor and extended his hand.

'What? I am not dancing with you.'

'Oh come on! Get off from your high and mighty throne for a while.'

He put his hand on my waist and pulled me closer and we started to dance for Rouge Wave's Everyday.

'Now, since you are facing him and I am sorta blocking your view, crane your neck and act as though you are trying very hard to look at him but I am not letting you.'

'You are crazy! Let's go back already. We have been here for 10 mins, if he wanted to make a move, he would have.'

'You are such a bore, Aria. He is working and he needs to know he is wanted for him to ignore his customers and come look for you. Just play along, alright?'

I did as he said and he gave a very good impression of distracting me from my object of desire.

'Did he look at you trying to look at him?'

'Yes, he did.'

'Good, now keep talking to me while your eyes wander in his direction every 2 minutes.'

'I can't do this. Seriously!'

'We're so close. Don't give up now. Oh and when he asks you about me later; give him a non committal answer. Don't refuse anything outright.'

'You're so full of crap Ezra. You should use your talents in directing a movie. You might have better luck.'

'Oh believe me, that's exactly what I am doing now.'

The song was about to end and I heard someone asking,

'May I have the next dance please? If you don't mind?' Andy was standing next to us.

'Sure, she is all yours.' Ezra handed me over to Andy and walked in the direction of the seating area.

'Hi...' he said winking his eyes.

'Hi...' I bit my lips, feeling a little shy as he took me in his arms.

'Don't you have to work?' I asked after half the song was over.

'I do. But who is to say I can't take a break to dance with the most beautiful girl on the dance floor? How did you sleep last night? Had a bad hangover?' He sounded concerned and apologetic.

'I slept like a log. I felt a little fuzzy this morning but nothing caffeine couldn't fix.'

'Alcohol, caffeine, not very health conscious, are you?'

'Not particularly.'

'So, what's the deal with you and your professor? I thought you said he wasn't your boyfriend.'

'He isn't. Actually, I am about to do something really stupid. He was just putting on the whole act so that you'd come over and make a move on me. There, I said it. You can hate me now.'

He threw his head backward and laughed.

'Well, I am glad he took the effort. But he didn't have to. I was gonna come look for you in the house tomorrow, if you didn't turn up today, of course with the excuse of delivering some grocery to Ms. Skarsgard, but he made my job easy.'

'You are lying.' I said dropping my head and looking down.

'Would you believe me, if I swore on Scary Mary?'

'Ha ha... fine... I believe you.'

I looked up, he bent down and laughed. As our foreheads touched a brand new sensation spread all over my body.

'I would like to dance all night but...' his voice trailed and he looked in the direction of the bar.

'I am sorry for keeping you away from work. I didn't realize we had been dancing for this long.' I apologized earnestly after looking at the time.

'Don't be. It was my pleasure. Let's go.'

He took my hand and walked to the bar. I was surprised that he wasn't bored by now and wanted to spend more time with me. He took his station, taking orders, chatting with his clients and making drinks. I sat across him, questioning him on cocktail recipes and town gossips.

It was past 10 when I had realized that I had missed Igor's dinner back at the Gilbert Residence. I was disappointed with myself for forgetting about it. I wondered if Ezra and Ayana attended the dinner, considering they were on a date. I decided to make it up to Igor somehow in the following days.

'You have gone awfully quite.' Andy remarked as he started to clean up the place for closing up.

'How come the place is deserted already?' I was curious considering it wasn't this desolate a little close to midnight the previous night.

'Tomorrow is Monday. Our townsfolk are very keen on having an early day during the week. All the fun is reserved for Saturday night.'

'I see.'

'So, I was thinking, I could take you out for Breakfast tomorrow, if you don't think it's too soon, that is.' He asked nervously, not smiling, not looking up at me. I could sense that he was worried about my reaction; a possible rejection or worse shock on my part.

I prolonged his anticipation and waited till he looked up at me. I held his glance for a second and then put my hand on his.

'I thought you would never ask.' I smiled, not taking my hand off his.

He laughed, shaking his head several times, in relief.

'I will pick you up at 7.'

I nodded in agreement.

'Ready to go home Aria?'

I heard Ezra's voice as I felt his hand on my shoulder. It was around 11 now. I got off the barstool and waved goodbye to Andy.

'Thanks Mr. Winston, for setting us up.' Andy said with a mischievous smile as he wiped the glasses dry.

'You outed me? Unbelievable Aria! Ezra shot a shocking glass in my direction. We left the bar after they exchanged pleasantries.

'So, how was your date?' I asked lingering on the word 'Date' longer than the other words.

He rolled his eyes at me and spoke after a while.

'It was date like. Nothing unusual. We flirted, had some drinks, talked pretending to want to get to know each other better only to prolong the inevitable and then ended up in her bed. It got better after that though.'

'What?' I stared at him in shock.

'What?'

'I thought she really liked you.'

'She did. That's why I ended up in her bed Aria.'

'No... I mean...I thought this was more than...' my voice trailed.

'Oh come on. We have got 8 days in this place. How could it be anything more?'

My face fell which he didn't fail to notice.

'Hey... your story could be entirely different from mine. Cheer up. Has he asked you out yet?'

'Yes. He is taking me out for breakfast tomorrow.'

'That's nice. Dinner was amazing today by the way. Igor entertained us all with stories of his town. You would have liked it.'

'I feel so bad for missing it. I lost track of time, I would've rushed back if I hadn't.'

'That's alright. You can make it up to him tomorrow.'

We walked in silence till we reached the house. I realized that Andy wasn't joking about the townsfolk being very particular about their sleep routine. It seemed like Mrs. Skarsgard and Michael had already retired to bed. All the lights were turned off except for the ones in the porch and the kitchen.

'Are you sleepy?' Ezra asked as I was about to step into the house.

'Ummm... not really... why? What do you have in mind?'

'I was thinking about sitting in the garden and having a couple of drinks.'

'Oh... I am in. But where do we get the drinks from?'

'I have a bottle of Bourbon in my room. I'll get it. Get some ice and glasses.' He ordered and hurried into the house.

We sat in the garden staring at the cold mountains that stood far away from us, silently gulping down few shots of Bourbon. It went down my throat like liquid fire but the mild heat it spread in my body felt good. My mind started to relax a bit and my inhibitions began to dissolve.

'How did you sleep with her and then leave her alone? You are such a dick! You should have at least cuddled till morning.' I scolded him as I hit him with my elbow.

'Excuse me? Did you just call me a dick?'

'I most certainly did.'

'We had a great time in bed and it didn't seem like she expected me to be all lovey dovey and neither did I feel the need to pretend.'

'Hmmm...'

Another spell of silence passed between us.

'What do you want to write about Aria?'

'Well...When I brush my teeth every morning, I look at a building that's right in front of my balcony. It's a dry cleaning warehouse of some sort. I see a man pressing clothes there. I have never seen his face. I only see him from waist down. But those few minutes when I watch him, I am overcome by a strong emotion. It's not a pleasure of being a voyeur. I think about how his life must be, what hardships he must go through each day and I wish he has a happy life despite knowing that his mundane life filled with no excitement. I mean... what excitement could a guy who presses clothes day in and day out have in his life? But I keep hoping and I want to transform that strong surge of emotion I feel at the moment into words.'

I stopped and looked at him. His eyes were intently staring at me. I realized he had been staring at me the whole time.

'What do you want to write about?' I asked, trying to push away the air of awkwardness that enveloped me.

'Doesn't matter. I got my wish today.' He said, not taking his eyes of me.

'What is that?' I asked confused and surprised.

'This is how my date was supposed be. This was how my every date was supposed to be.' He smashed his glass against the well that stood across us and turned to me.

For a moment there, I was lost in his eyes, the frustration and relief they displayed simultaneously. Our faces inched closer. He closed his eyes for a split second and I fell out of the trance.

'No...' we both said in unison.

'We can't do this.'

'Nope. We can't.' He agreed and turned his head away.

'I am not that girl you know who...'

'I get it Aria. You should go to bed.'

I didn't want to leave him alone but I didn't have a choice. His face had turned stone cold. He kept staring at the mountains like there was no one around him, like I wasn't around him. I stood there for a moment, not knowing what to do next. Then I made up my mind, placed a tender kiss on his cheek and whispered 'I am sorry' before leaving him.


	3. Chapter 3

I had had a peaceful, dreamless, sleep and was awakened by the distant yet clear tolling of the church bell. It was 6 and it seemed like waking upto Ezra peering out the window (like it was his sole purpose in life) was going to become an inevitable routine. It wouldn't have bothered me usually but given last night's brief emotional outbursts, he was the last person I wanted to face. My inner voice reminded me that I am not one of those RomCom heroines who deal with such 'issues' head on, in spite of its awkwardness and manage to emerge out successfully unscathed, with a promise of a beautifully blossoming, friendship, no less. Nope, I am not that girl. My luck, I might just blurt out something completely rude which might hurt his ego and I might have to deal with the awkwardness for the rest of the trip. Oh yeah, that's what concerned me the most, not the fact that I might lose a friend. I barely knew the guy for 2 days for heaven's sake. So, No! I didn't want to 'DEAL' with anything. I was never a 'DEALER' and was never going to be. I am what one would consider a classic 'ESCAPIST'. I would rather pretend and go on as though nothing ever happened last night than going through a messy, awkward and definitely unwanted conversation with my ex professor turned matchmaker/friend turned object of my desire for a brief drunken moment.

I tip toed silently to the bathroom but realized that if I didn't say anything, it would seem like I was acting strange.

'Good Morning! Did you sleep well?'

'Like a baby.' I felt him approaching the bathroom as his voice grew closer.

'What time is your date picking you up?' As our hands touched while grabbing our toothbrushes, I flinched involuntarily.

'Seven...what have you got planned for today?'

He sniggered and proceeded to brush.

'What?' I asked infuriated.

'Nothing!' but his smirk suggested otherwise.

'What?' I punched his shoulder.

'Ouch. You are a violent woman Aria. Has anyone told you that before?'

'Don't change the subject.'

'Well... it is amusing to watch you walk on shells, trying to be nice to me because you think you have wounded my fragile heart'. He mocked me holding his hand close to his chest as he turned away from me and walked out of the bathroom.

'Well... it's nice to know that you don't have one.' I followed him.

'You know what's more amusing? The way you flatter yourself! I had had great sex, the drain of adrenaline had made me feel empty, I was drunk and so...' There was a pause. 'No need to beat yourself up over it, you know.'

He was now slouched over his laptop, his back turned to me. I crossed my arms and stood next to him leaning on the table and took a moment to gather my courage

'Well... I am glad that the brief moment of intimacy and attraction was just my mind playing tricks on me. I can go back to not feeling guilty about anything now. Thanks.' My tone exuded sarcasm in every word I uttered.

He looked up at me, his eyes peering into mine for a second before he straightened his posture and inched closer. He bent his head sideways with an evil smile and said,

'Oh there was plenty of attraction...' he traced my cheek with his fingers. 'But you are not that kinda girl, remember?'

I pushed him away using both my hands and tried to walk away. He grabbed me by my wrist pulled me closer. I tried to wriggle free. He held me by arms and started to talk. His voice took on an earnest tone.

'What do want me to do?'

'I want you to let me go.' I spoke through my clenched teeth.

'Aria. Let's talk about this. I wanted to give you a way out. Clearly, you don't seem happy. So, tell me.'

'No... I am more than happy to take the way out. Thank you... I mean it. Let me go. I don't want to talk about anything.'

'Aria... tell me... what's going on in your mind? Please...' he was now holding my face between his hands.

'I am about to go on a date with an amazing guy in less than an hour. I don't want any loose ends. I don't want things getting messier later. If you have something to say, you'd have to say it now.' I had no idea what I was talking about or where that came from.

'Like what?' his eyes were twinkling with curiosity and amusement.

'Oh... I dunno...may be something in the lines of... We almost kissed last night and it didn't spring out of nowhere... so, I would like to get to know you better because clearly none of my previous dates matched up to the brief moment of intimacy we shared.' I angrily walked towards the window and stood, my face turned away from him.

He followed me and made me turn to face him.

'And what would you do? You'd cancel your date with Andy?' He asked with a smile on his face.

'No... Of course not. I like him and I am not scared to admit it. At least, I wouldn't give him the impression that he is the only person on my mind right now.'

He inched closer and rested his hands on the window, holding me a prisoner in between his arms.

'And if I were to express such a wish, what makes you think I would be willing to share you with Andy?'

I let out an exasperated sigh and pushed him away, walking towards the bathroom.

'Because, you wouldn't have a choice. I like Andy and right now, I don't like you and I take back everything I said. You're so full of yourself.'

As I shut the door behind me and headed to the bathtub to cool my temper, I heard his cruel laughter slowly grow distant and finally die down.

What I witnessed when I descended the stairs was a strange yet joyous scene. The living room had come alive with laughter which I could hear (but not see) from beyond the walls of the kitchen. In the center of the kitchen, , bent over the island was laughing uncontrollably as a result of something Andy had whispered to her. I hid myself from their line of vision, not wanting to interrupt their merry little tryst. After a few seconds, she carried on with her work in the kitchen as Andy followed her around like a puppy. After she set a cooking pot on the stove and stirred it a couple of times, she opened the shelf directly above her and removed a glass jar from it. She then took something from the jar and fed it to Andy with affection. Smiling to myself, I deemed it to be the right time to interrupt them as Ms. Skarsgard immersed herself in her work, not leaving a trace of her light-hearted version that had made an appearance a few minutes earlier.

Andy heard my footsteps and looked up at me and cast his pure, light-filled, smile. Just then, Ezra entered the kitchen, to refill his coffee mug and whispered something to Andy who looked at me again and smiled, only this time it was a shy smile.

'Don't believe his lies Andy', I snaked my arm around his waist and kissed him on his cheek.

'That's sad, I was hoping it was true', he imitated a sad expression before returning my kiss.

'Oh believe me it is true', affirmed Mr. Annoying before he returned to the living room.

Igor came running into the kitchen followed by Ayana and it seemed like the two had been playing.

'Hey... Igor... I am extremely sorry for missing dinner last night. I promise, I will make it up to you this evening.' I ruffled his hair gently and hoped he would forgive me.

'Don't be sorry Ms. Vincent. I look forward to being your date this evening, if you will have me, that is', he responded with a polite smile.

'It would be my pleasure and please call me Aria', I beamed.

As Andy and I were about to leave the room, we were interrupted by Ms. Skarsgard.

'Aria, if you give me the list of ingredients, I will have them ready by this evening.'

'Oh!' It took me a few seconds to comprehend that it was my turn to cook dinner that evening. I had to come up with a plan quickly.

'The list is in my room and I will ask Ezra to give it to you Ms. Skarsgard.'

'Sure. You two have a great time', she said and left us to ourselves.

'Andy... Give me two minutes, I will be back.'

I scuttled out of the kitchen to find Ezra. He was leisurely walking in the lawn, reading a newspaper.

'I am on a crisis mode and you need to help.' I kept my voice low.

'Oh... so now you need the help of this liar?'

'Oh come on! Not the time to play victim Ezra. Are you gonna help me out or what?'

'What happened?'

'It's my turn to cook dinner this evening and I am a bad cook, actually, I am not even a cook. I don't know how to cook and I hate cooking. Help me, please.'

He broke into fits of laughter.

'Oh! Come on!' I pleaded.

'Fine, what do you want me to do?'

'First of all, whatever you are planning to cook or help me cook, give Ms. Skarsgard a list of ingredients. I told her it's in my room. The rest, we can figure out once I get back?'

'Alright! What do I get in return?'

'Oh... just whatever you want...' I scuttled back to Andy who was standing at the doorway, took his hand with a mask of everything-is-alright smile and we headed out for our breakfast date.

We came upon a vast grassland after walking for what seemed like an eternity. I was relieved at the sight of a brown timbered farmhouse. The fall colour was more distinct in this part of the valley. The earth was blanketed in a single shade of orange for as far as my eyes could traverse. I was distracted by a sound that was made distant by the fast blowing wind. I turned around to look at a trip of goats playing among themselves in a fenced stretch of land. There were two other buildings far behind the farmhouse which I assumed to be a barn and a byre.

'Need some more time or shall we proceed?'

I smiled at him and followed his lead. The interiors were spacious with minimal furniture. Compared to the Gilbert house where floods of light streamed in through every possible window and door, Andy's farmhouse was scantily lit, the only source of light entering through couple of windows in the living room and the kitchen. Kitchen was a large, rustic space, the first half of which was converted into a dining space. I stood by the window, my hands gripping one of the chairs of the dining table and looked around the place. A low fire was burning at the hearth across which Andy stood, his back turned to me. The utensils were dangling about the hearth. The onions, turnips and garlic wrapped in a netted bag were hung at an arm's distance from the cook. For someone like me who had grown up in a plastic, glass and steel environment, this was a welcome change.

'Do you live here by yourself?' I took my seat by the window.

'Nah..I live here with my mum. I sent her off to the market town.' He said with a mischievous laughter as he turned and looked at me.

I raised my eyebrows questioningly.

'Well...I don't bring home dates. If I did, she'd think this is pretty serious.' There was a pause.

'Not that it isn't serious, but she would burst out with excitement and smother you with affection and lot of questions.' He spoke as he walked toward the table and took his seat across me.

I simply smiled as a sign of understanding and appreciation. 'Meet the parent' was the last thing on my list of unexpected activities at a writer's retreat.

'I would be more than glad to introduce you to my mum. You know that right?'

'Hey Andy, chill. You don't owe me an explanation for your every action.'

He went back to hearth and filled two plates with some colourful contents. Instead of placing them on the table, he continued to walk past me, as he signalled me to follow him. As soon as we sat under a tree, I began to devour my breakfast. All the walking in the hilly area had left me starving.

'Mmmm... this tastes amazing. What is this?' I asked chewing pieces of potatoes, sausage patties, eggs, bell peppers, fresh mushrooms and tomatoes thrown together. The taste of butter and olive oil lingered in my mouth.

'It's called the German breakfast. There are many versions of it.'

'This is Andy's version huh?'

'Ha ha... more like Andy's mum's version.'

After breakfast, we took a short walk.

'So... life in the mountains is great, huh?'

'Mostly, sometimes it could get suffocating. You know, like the hills and the woods are closing in on you.'

'Hmmm.. what do you do then?'

'I go to the oceans. Not very far from Avalon, there is a fishing village. I have some friends there.'

'That's nice. Don't you ever want more? Don't you ever wonder what it would be like? To go out and see the world?'

He shook his head as he laughed, as though I was a naive, innocent child questioning him about something quite obvious that had escaped my knowledge.

'What more could I possibly want? To live in a city where your face gets lost among the thousand others? To be identified only by what I am called, what I wear which restaurants I go to? To live among people whom I call neighbours only because they live next door?'

'Is that how you think city life is?'

'I dunno. May be I am wrong. But I have grown up among people who have a strong sense of community. People don't work here just because they have to. Work is not a separate,, hectic part of life that people seek respite from. We don't need 'vacations' from work. Our work and life are so intermingled. It's so fun and relaxing that it never crosses over to becoming a burden. Some might consider this boring and stale without challenges but there is a comfort in this familiarity. To stand at my bar and listen to my customers talk about their day or about their children or how they plan to spend their weekend, there is a safety in it. Like I know who I am dealing with and I have known these people all my life.'

'That must be a nice feeling, one that I am unfamiliar with.'

'And as for seeing the world. Yes, the desire to have an experience of a new land has always been there. And I do as much as I can to fulfil that desire.'

'Like what?'

'Oh come on. Enough about me. Let's talk about you.'

'No... Tell me. I want to listen.'

'One summer, my cousin and I decided we wanted to see the world. We pestered our mothers to write to our Uncle who lives in Holland. He lives in a town close to the Belgian border. He was happy to have us for the summer. We took a cheap, overnight ferry to Amsterdam. That was a summer to remember. In the Dutch villages, we watched the paintings of Van Gogh and stories of Hans Christian Anderson come alive. The countryside served some of the forgotten regional Dutch food. And then we visited this city called Utrecht, its called Venice of the north. I have never seen houses as beautiful anywhere.'

'Sounds like a dream come true.'

'It was. Ever since, I have been saving for my next adventure.'

'Where to?'

'That's a secret. Now... enough about me. What about you? You are here to write poetry, huh?'

'Mostly yes, I dabble with short stories too. But I haven't gotten much of writing done.'

'Ah... you have a lifetime to write.' He took my hand in his and he continued to walk.

'Would you care to stay for lunch?' he asked when were back at his place.

I was peering out the dining room window, at a huge mansion that stood on the rise, beyond the slope of the rolling hill.

'Sure. I would love to stay for lunch.'

'Andy... who stays at the mansion?' I asked after some more staring.

'Nobody yet. The last time my brother visited, he told me some family from the city has bought it and they are planning to move in coming spring.'

'You have a brother?'

'Yes. But he doesn't live with us. He works at the train station at Avalon. Mum wants him to come back and help with the farm but he is bored of it. Guess he wants to see the world.'

'So you work at your dairy farm, supply grocery for the whole town and manage the bar in the evening? How do you find time for anything else?'

'Ha ha. You talk like I run a one man show. We have people to help us with the farm. As for the groceries, mum just has to visit the market town and choose what she wants. The list is pretty much constant. She just finds pleasure in ordering around the sellers. They load everything in the truck and the driver drives her back. I do the delivery once a week, during the weekend. And come on, there are roughly just 40 households here. The major portion of the delivery goes to the Atherford College. I don't manage that part.'

'I didn't know Atherford had a college.'

'Where do you think Mr. Connor works?

'I thought he just ran the retreat.'

'The retreat is like his mistress. The college job is his first love. He came to this town when the town could hardly be called a town. He founded the English Department and has been struggling ever since to bring students to the college. It's not easy for people to believe a college in a goddamn corner of the world could have someone as valuable as Mr. Connor. He has brought some pretty great professors to the college, not just to the department.'

'And what about Ms. Skarsgard?'

'Oh... Ms. Skarsgard. They both have quite an interesting history. You have no idea.'

'Really? Come on. Tell me.'

'Nah. That's not my story to tell. You should hear it from her someday.'

'What? No! There is no way I am going to ask her. Come on! Tell me.'

'Aria... No. It's a story you should hear from one of them, not me.'

'Fine!' I went back to staring at the mansion.

After a while, the people who worked at the farm started to crowd the place. Andy introduced me to them and then led them to the barn. I could hear their chatter as they worked happily; occasionally they talked to cattle and petted them. I stood at the doorway and watched the simple pleasures of a country life unfolding before my eyes.

'Come on in. Its starting to get colder outside and you're not dressed warmly enough. I will start the fire in the living room.'

I obeyed and sat on the sofa, which was the only furniture in the living room. There was a lot of moving space. There was no television or any other electronic gadget. There was bookrack filled with the bookkeeping records. A tall lamp stood by the table and chair next to the bookrack.

Andy started the fire, took off his sweater and sat next to me, his arm around my shoulder. It was a strange feeling, not being aroused or excited by the touch of the man I desired. Instead, it was a comfort that felt so familiar, like curling up in your blanket on a rainy afternoon and listening to the rain outside your window. Not seeing it but knowing its there, bringing along with it the fresh smell of the earth and thousands of fond memories. I leaned closer, resting my head on his chest.

'Have you ever been in love?' It was a sudden question after a stretch of silence.

'What kind of strange question is that?'

'Its simple question. Have you ever been in love?'

'Why?'

'You are a writer. I have heard so many writers who come here talk about the beauty of love and how it's the singular most powerful feeling that can turn your life upside down. I have never understood what they meant. And I couldn't ask them what they meant because it would seem rude. After all, the power of love is supposed to be universal, right?'

'You are asking the question to the wrong person, Andy. Forget love, I have never even had a deep friendship with anyone. The possibility of spending sleepless nights in the thoughts of someone and finding pleasure in that pain is very bleak.'

'I know what you mean. You know what I think? I think it doesn't exist. The one true love that makes your existence more meaningful, love that completes your life in a way no one else or nothing else does, is just a myth. Everyone likes to write about it and sing about it because it doesn't exist and they can't accept the fact that relationships aren't perfect and whether romantic love or any other love has its own pitfalls and the beauty is not having something immaculate but to persevere.'

'If something is strong enough to survive through the worst of storms, then it is immaculate, isn't it? I don't know Andy. I come from a place where people fall in love before dating and enter a relationship with the intention of spending their lives together. I have never experienced the kind of love poets talk about but seeing so many people around me experience it, its hard not to believe in it, even if it might never be meant for me.'

'Are you serious? How can people fall in love before dating?'

'Well. That's what happens in India. When two people realize that they like each other, they start their relationship with 'I think I am in love with you'. May be that's why I have never had a successful relationship. That kind of commitment is scary.'

As we were conversing about love and friendship and heartbreak, Andy got called away by one of the townsfolk working at the barn. I returned to the dining room window to stare at the mansion. There was something romantic about the scene. It was not the mansion in itself that kindled a powerful feeling inside of me. It was the rustic, old farmhouse; it was the continuum of darkness interspersed by the thin ray of light coming in through the window, the small and beautiful window through which I could look out. It was definitely something about the window. Painted in white, the wooden edges chipped and falling off, the simple, red curtain pulled to its sides. Something someone had said flashed through my mind. It was about inspiration:

As Ruth Stone was growing up in rural Virginia, she would be out, working in the fields and she would feel and hear a poem coming at her from over the landscape. It was like a thunderous train of air and it would come barreling down at her over the landscape. And when she felt it coming...cause it would shake the earth under her feet, she knew she had only one thing to do at that point. That was to, in her words, "run like hell" to the house as she would be chased by this poem.

The whole deal was that she had to get to a piece of paper fast enough so that when it thundered through her, she could collect it and grab it on the page. Other times she wouldn't be fast enough, so she would be running and running, and she wouldn't get to the house, and the poem would barrel through her and she would miss it, and it would "continue on across the landscape looking for another poet".

And then there were these times, there were moments where she would almost miss it. She is running to the house and is looking for the paper and the poem passes through her. She grabs a pencil just as it's going through her and she would reach out with her other hand and she would catch it. She would catch the poem by its tail and she would pull it backwards into her body as she was transcribing on the page. In those instances, the poem would come up on the page perfect and intact, but backwards, from the last word to the first.

I realized what she had meant. I rushed to the living room and collected some papers and pen and rushed back to the dining room. I sat by the window. Looking at the mansion, I penned down my thoughts. Andy came in a while, but he did not disturb me and went about his work. When I grew tired of looking at the mansion, I turned my attention to Andy, the way he meticulously went about his work, the loud laughter of the townsfolk outside the house and the rich, dark color of the mahogany ageing away for centuries, yet not dying, but living. I didn't need the sublime _West Wind; _these were inspiration enough for me, the simple pleasures of country life.

'Looks like someone got a lot of writing done. Can I read them?' asked Andy were walking back to the Gilbert house. I was beaming with the satisfaction of having written 3 short stories and a poem.

'You don't get to read it now. May be, not forever. I have to run it by Mr. Connor first. I am nervous as to what he would have to say about it.'

He simply smiled and patted on my shoulder encouragingly. He kissed me goodbye at the porch and promised to take me to the legendary well the next evening. I happily hopped around the house to find Mr. Connor. He was seated in the backyard. I stood in front of him and extended him the papers.

He got them from my hands and skimmed through them.

'Wow. You seem to have written plenty for a day.'

'Oh yes Mr. Connor, you have no idea. My brain is exhausted right now. I am quite happy with what I have done but I am eager to know what you'd have to say about it. I might work on editing them.'

'Aria, please call me Michael. I will take a look at them now. We will discuss it after dinner.'

'Sure Michael. Thanks. I have to hurry now. My turn to cook.'

You know the feeling you get after you leave the movie hall after watching a great movie or when you finish reading a book that struck a deep chord inside of you? That's exactly how I felt after getting back from Andy's or after I handed over my manuscript to Michael. It was a completely different world here. Poets and novelists huddled around the fireplace, measuring out their words as they spoke, filtering and re filtering their thoughts, arguing in a sophisticated manner whether this author portrays the fractured sensibilities of modernism better or that playwright gives a better peek into the Melancholic. It was a healthy environment, a fertile ground to let ideas spring forth but sometimes, one tires of it. You reach a point when you want to scream 'Enough! What's the point of all of this?' I have caught myself feeling that way every now and then in the past 3 years but today, it was different. Having experienced the other side of living life fully by taking pleasure in labour and the sense of community, where life is not questioned or pondered upon to the point of giving you a nervous breakdown but simply understood, this side of world, the academia, stood out starkly, casting an evil laughter at me. Questioning me if this is what I really wanted for the rest of my life. But I wasn't going to let this thought spoil my mood. I pushed it to one corner of my mind and walked to Ezra.

'Hey everyone. Could I steal him from you guys? He promised to entertain me while I cook dinner for you all.'

'Oh sure.' Lydia responded.

'He is all yours.' Ayana's said with broad smile.

I pulled him by his elbow and dragged him to the kitchen, flashing a fake smile at everyone.

'Hi.' I greeted him.

'Hi' he said suspiciously. 'Why are you all chipper?'

'I wrote 3 short stories and a poem' I clapped my hands together and let out a tiny squeal jumping above the ground. I looked around to make sure no one had been watching.

'Wow. That's something. Can I read it?'

My smile disappeared. 'Nope. Never. Like never ever. Chop Chop, what are we cooking?'

'What if reading your manuscript is the payment I demand for being your secret cook this evening?'

'Please... No... Ezra... Please don't do this. Please please please. I am in such a great mood.'

'Alright alight. You are acting all weird. I don't recognize you.'

'Yeah. I am happy!' I said surveying the ingredients that were kept ready on the Island.

'So, there is spinach, potatoes, cottage cheese, bell pepper and wheat flour. Cool. So, we are making palak panner, shimla mirch aaloo and rotis.'

'Yes, your highness.' He took a bow. 'Now, if you would please follow my instructions.'

Halfway through our episode of master chef, Ezra said, 'I take it from your chirpy mood that your date went well.'

'Yes.'

'Did you guys kiss yet?'

'Ezra... that's none of your business.'

'Oh... So... you didn't.'

I nodded in exasperation and continued to cook.

'Did you manage to get any writing done?' I asked him after sometime not wanting to go on silent mode.

'Look at you. All proud about your writing. So, you are ridiculing us lesser mortals.' He joked.

'That's not what I meant. It's been 2 days and you haven't even told me what you write.'

'I will tell you when you show me your manuscript.'

'Ha...No way in hell.'

Having discovered some yoghurt in the fridge, Ezra made a last minute addition to the menu. He asked me to cut onions and tomatoes for raitha while he scrounged around the pantry for anything that might be used as a substitute for chaat Masala.

'Aria, that's not how you slice the tomatoes. Have you never been inside a kitchen?'

'May be I haven't. Now show me how to slice these goddamn tomatoes. They are certainly not as delightful as Neruda describes them to be. I mean why would anyone want to write an _Ode to the Tomato_?'

'I see that my 3 years of teaching poetry has been lost on you.' He laughed, picked up another knife. 'Now, this is the knife you slice a tomato with.'

He stood behind me, handed me the knife and took my hands in his. Slowly (and sensuously) he sliced the tomatoes one after another.

'You pick the worst poem to talk about Neruda. You know he also wrote some of the most romantic lines?'

'Really?' My breathing became heavy as we were cheek to cheek.

His lips were touching my ear when he whispered '_I want to do to you what spring does to cherry trees._'

Another intimate moment, carved out from our lives in which we were different people. Another moment ripe with desire to stretch out and reach the impossible and have a taste of it before it melts away. Another moment frozen in time, yet pulling me inside a vortex of lustful darkness.

His made me let go of the knife and slowly drew behind, traversing the length of my hands, making every lingering moment a painful ecstasy. I turned my face to look into his eyes. Another near kiss, another moment to reminisce.

Hearing the approaching voice of Ms. Skarsgard, he moved away. I took a deep breath and braced myself against the kitchen island.

'You kids need some help in here?' she asked looking and sniffing at the dishes that were cooking.

'We are almost done.' He responded.

'Smells great. I can't wait to have them.' She patted my shoulder on her way out and I smiled back.

'Good evening Ms. Vincent. I got this for you.' Igor came into the kitchen and extended a small, yellow flower.

'Right on time for your date huh mister? Ezra took the flower from him and tugged it in a strand of my hair.

'Why don't you take your date for a walk while I finish up with the dinner Igor?'

'No. It's alright. My date and I can hang out here. In fact, he will help me serve the dinner, won't you Igor? And call me Aria. Seriously! What's with this Miss Vincent?'

We questioned him about his town and asked him about his friends. The room came alive with laughter as he told us about the many pranks he played on his friends. And as we were about transferring the dishes to the dining table, Ms. Skarsgard said,

'Aria, if you wish I could give Andy a call and ask him to join us for dinner.'

Ezra's smiling face disappeared at the mention of Andy.

'He told me that he might be joining his mum at the market town this evening.'

'Oh... I didn't know that.'

I sat in between Ezra and Igor at dinner and both my dates were quite nice to me. When everyone praised me for how great the food was, I tried to tell them the truth about Ezra being the cook but he silenced me by distracting the crowd with a joke. Ms. Skarsgard had baked pumpkin pie which we had for dessert.

When everyone broke into different groups, Ezra stood at the porch, sipping a cup of coffee.

'Hey' I stood next to him, facing the lawn.

'Hey' he responded and continued to relish his coffee.

'Listen, about earlier... I...I dunno what I was thinking.'

'Don't worry about it Aria. It was my fault. I will try to be a good boy like Igor.' He laughed.

'So, we are good?'

'Why not? Besides, I figured Neruda is too cheesy for your taste.'

'Yes, he is. I need to go talk to Michael about my manuscript. So...'

'Yeah... go on. I will see you back in the room. All the best.'

Of all the things I had expected him to say, Michael had picked the worst. He had said my writing was good but I was afraid of making it great by inhibiting myself. He had said I was afraid to go places that could make my writing raw and real. And the worst part about it was, somewhere deep inside I had already known it. My fear of exploring the unknown had left me feeling crippled throughout my life but all those times, I sought comfort within the boundaries of rules, structures and notions of conventional success. It had helped me feel good about myself. Not straying from the track, not taking the road less travelled. I had thought deferring my admission and attending this writer's retreat was daring enough that it would make my insecurity go away. But then, you know what they say. It keeps coming back to haunt you till you go out there and face it. I stood at Ezra's spot, peering outside, thinking about what Michael had said about how I cannot treat my life and writing differently and how the way I lived will reflect in the way I write.

'If that's how you want to live and write, it's completely fine Aria. You are a good writer and you could continue to write the same way and I am sure you'd progress. But you are too young to have such rigid boundaries. Don't you want to know what's out there?'

Ezra came in around 11. I wondered what he was doing out there for so long. He placed a notebook on his table and proceeded to take a shower. When he emerged out of the bathroom, he was scantily clad in a full length pyjama and no shirt, just a towel hanging about his shoulders.

'Your students and ex students would kill to see you like this, you know?'

'May be you should take a picture and send them.' He tossed the towel on the chair and walked towards his closet to rummage through it. He picked a crumpled, white, full sleeved shirt and walked towards me as he wore it on.

'So, what was Michael's verdict?'

'Ah... nothing... the usual...' I lied and turned my face away, facing the window.

'Oh really? You sneaky little liar? I don't think anyone could give the usual commentary on something as splendid as :

I'm not looking for the dawn,

As the brisk mornings come and go;

I am looking for the young night,

And the Silver moonlight beams,

Where the sound of darkness

Will break into my soul and set me free'

He once more whispered into my ears. I turned to him and gripped his shirt.

'How the hell did you read it? It was off limits.'

'I told Michael that since I am your professor and all, you wanted me to have a look at it after he was done. So, he handed it to me. They were brilliant Aria. Especially the story titled 'The Reader's Dilemma'.

'Thank you.' I let go of his shirt.

'So, what did Michael say that's got you so worried?'

I narrated our whole conversation to him.

'So how are you gonna resolve this writer's dilemma?'

I stepped forward, flung my hands around his neck and asked

'I dunno, why don't you tell me?'

'Aria, you are making it very difficult for me to be a good boy.'

'I know... but...' I retreated back into my writer's dilemma.

'Well.. I have walked about five miles today. I can't stand here for one more moment. I am going to bed.'

He switched off the lights, switched on the night lamp and went to bed.

'You are such a bore.' I said and went back to peering out the window.

'Look who is talking.' With that he went into a sleep mode and I kept standing there, looking out at the darkness, with not enough courage to step into it, yet waiting and wishing for it to send out its tentacles to pull me in.

At around 1 in the morning, I heard him turn in his bed.

'Aria?' I remained silent.

'Don't do this to yourself. Go to bed.' I stood there motionless, refusing to go one way or another.

'Hmmm... alright... Come on here. You are scaring me.'

'No... go to sleep.'

'You are really going to make me do this, aren't you?' he approached me and took my face in his hands. Then he slowly tucked the strands of hair covering my face behind my ears. He looked into my eyes and kissed me. I responded, every silenced voice in my head coming alive in that kiss. Giddy with pleasure, I broke away to brace myself against the window. It was better than the high a series of tequila shots or the taste mango dipped in salted vinegar could give you He scooped me up in his arms and walked to his bed. I had made up my mind to stop him, there was only so much pleasure I could take at once. But instead of undressing me, he held me close and kissed me and I was lost once again to the darkness.


End file.
